


Flipped

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Role Reversal, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hank serves his supposedly-human partner.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Flipped

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Technically, Connor won’t be able to eat a single thing Hank’s making, and it probably wouldn’t taste very good even if he did, but Hank goes through the motions anyway, because he agreed to this. It was Connor’s odd idea, but he figured it’d be fun—funny, at least, maybe interesting. He hasn’t made his own meals, _proper_ meals, in a long time, but he still remembers how. He wouldn’t feed Connor takeout, just like Connor won’t order in. Connor makes elaborate meals somehow both healthy and delicious. He says he wasn’t built for housekeeping, but of course he’s good at it, like he is at everything. Hank’s already-lacking skills were slipping when they met and fall ever more out of use as Connor takes care of him, but he tries. 

He turns the heat down on the vegetables and adds the rice, stirring it together before tapping in several spices. He doesn’t have a recipe and can’t just look it up in an instant, won’t ask for help, and he doesn’t even taste test, because _Connor_ wouldn’t do that. Hank can feel those gorgeous brown eyes boring into his back, even though Connor’s _supposed_ to be watching the game. The commentary drones on in the background. Hank goes in and out of listening to it. The closer he gets to finishing the dinner, the less he can concentrate on anything but _Connor_.

Scooping out a big bowl and grabbing a glass of water, Hank finally heads for the living room. There’s a split second where he turns around and stops dead on upon actually _seeing_ Connor sitting there, sprawled out along the couch, posture uncharacteristically horrible. Somehow, that only makes him cuter. And he was already too cute to handle. 

It doesn’t help that he’s wearing Hank’s hoodie either—the grey one from the Academy he hasn’t worn in years. It’s a little oversized on Connor, covering most of his hands and tumbling down his thighs, half-hiding his borrowed boxers. Hank has Connor’s tight briefs on under the fitted suit they had to order, and at first Hank thought that was stupid, but suddenly seeing Connor in his clothes makes him understand. There’s a smile in Connor’s eyes that doesn’t reach his mouth, because _Hank_ doesn’t get a dopey grin every time his lover brings him dinner. He just glows privately on the inside. 

Hank comes around the coffee table, deliberately blocking the television as he lowers the food onto it, because Connor annoyingly does that. Then he steps back and stands straight, just hovering by the side of the couch, waiting to be useful. When Connor doesn’t immediately reach for the food, Hank clears his throat—biting back a quick curse because that action doesn’t fit—and he grunts, “Dinner’s ready.” Then he thinks to add, “Lieutenant,” because there’s nothing quite like the way Connor purrs his title. 

Connor doesn’t even look at him this time, just casually drawls, “About time, tin-can.” 

Hank has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He hasn’t called Connor that in forever. If the blue circle glued to his forehead actually worked, it’d be flashing yellow. But it’s only a sticker. 

Connor lifts the bowl into his lap and blows on it, as though it’s too hot to eat, when really, it’s too _organic._ Hank’s not exactly sure what they’re going to do about that, but Connor doesn’t seem bothered. Then he pats the empty seat beside him, shuffling over enough to make room, and Hank moves to perch on the edge of the cushion. He sits as exactingly as he can, like any good android with a steel spine would. Connor looks curiously over at him, so very _expressive_.

He asks Hank, “Do you ever wonder what it’s like to eat?”

Hank arches a brow. He’s never even thought about it. Connor prompts, “Can your model handle it?”

Hank didn’t know _any_ androids could eat. But for the sake of eating dinner without ruining the role-play, he decides, “Sure.” Connor dons a slight smile, letting him knows that he picked the right answer, and then Connor’s gathering rice and cooked carrots up on his fork. He lifts it to Hank’s mouth, and Hank leans forward for it, opening wide, letting his doting boyfriend feed him. They don’t usually go this far, but there is something sweet about it, Connor guiding one forkful after the next into Hank’s waiting mouth. It’s clever of him, too, thinking of a way to deal with the food and keep the storyline going. There’s definitely some merit to extending scenes to small, domestic things, lasting all evening instead of just the night. When Hank said they could try it in bed, Connor asked if Hank would remember his role while balls-deep in Connor’s glorious silicone channel, and Hank realized that of course he wouldn’t. It’s easier to start now and just let it go for as long as Hank can last. Then maybe they’ll wake up in the morning and keep the wrong underwear on and not even pull off Hank’s sticker, assuming it doesn’t fall off from sweat. He definitely plans to get sweaty later. 

He swallows down everything Connor gives him and silently eyes Connor up like he’s dessert, which he probably is. Halfway to the bottom of the bowl, Connor reaches out to thumb a stray chunk off zucchini off Hank’s chin. Right in Hank’s bubble, Connor murmurs, “A beard is a strange choice for an android.” He rakes his fingers through it and idly asks, “Why _did_ they make you so goofy-looking?”

Hank withholds a snort. He dryly answers, “I was specifically designed to...” he has to pause to remember: “integrate well with humans.” It’s not word-for-word, but he doesn’t have perfect recall like Connor. He can’t resist throwing in a deliberately awkward wink and adding, “But hopefully my owner will come to love the way I look.” And he very much means the implication. 

After a few extra seconds, Connor quietly asks, “Do I own you?”

Hank blinks. Maybe that was a mistake. Connor thoughtfully muses, “I was under the impression that you were a special prototype on loan from CyberLife... independent of any one man, if you will...”

It’s too tempting. Hank breaks character to swing his arm around Connor’s shoulders, and Connor doesn’t reprimand him for it, just subtly leans into the touch and watches Hank’s face. Hank tells him, “I’m recently independent from CyberLife... and frankly, I wouldn’t mind belonging to Detroit’s top police lieutenant.”

For a torturously long moment, Connor just stares at him. It’s somehow both blank and intense—Hank can’t read it but knows that Connor’s processing. Then Connor bluntly says, “I have human needs.”

And he leans over to kiss Hank like he’s a greedy, touch-starved man in desperate need of _love_. 

Fortunately, Hank’s model was designed just for that, and he gives it as good as Connor always gives him.


End file.
